Free
by piratesmiley
Summary: Crews/Reese. "She didn’t become hopeless like she was supposed to."


A/N: It's taken forever, but this thing is finally done. :)

Spoilers: One.

Disclaimer: I don't own Life. I'm not entirely sure I have one, either.

* * *

Awe.

She doesn't usually feel this way. She isn't used to feeling this way. But this is the freshest feeling she's encountered for the past few gut-wrenching days, and awe seems like a nice ending to this story.

She got out of the car quickly, wanting to be in the same space as him again.

"Let's go," he beckoned.

"Where are we going?" She noticed that she didn't object. How strange.

"We're going to spend some time with my fruit." He turned. "Thank you, Agent Bodner."

"You don't need a ride?"

"Send him out here. He'll bring us home." Then, to himself: "Home. Home is the key."

Reese didn't speak. Bodner rolled his eyes and nodded, left and waved without turning back.

She looked to her partner. Almost tentatively, he took her hand and pulled her straight in the middle of the groves of oranges, but she wasn't paying attention to the suffocating citrus aroma or the fact that she should be ducking to avoid all of these tree limbs, but the fact that they were holding hands. They were allowed to do that now, because they both were free.

Freedom wasn't something she considered easy to take away. Get convicted for murder? Your freedoms are severely limited, you're cut from the waist down. But she never thought that getting captured was equal to _captivity_, as strange as that sounds, because she always expected herself to get out of whatever situation trapped her. She didn't become hopeless like she was supposed to.

But it had been days, and she was far past lethargic, bordering on _walking dead, _and beat faithless, so she didn't expect to get out. She knew Crews would try, but Roman was the king of _free_; he was always able to insert himself in or exorcise himself out of anything. She shuddered to think they were alike in that way, but that was the truth.

But Charlie Crews got her out. _She was free_.

Why the hell were they in an orange grove? She wanted _to sleep._

Crews apparently found a place clear enough for them to sit down, and he handed her an orange. "This orange might be the best orange you ever taste."

The sun shined like a halo around and deep into the small clearing; she breathed it in.

"And why is that?"

"Home-grown, straight off the tree, this stuff is what gods and angels eat."

"Angels." Her skepticism rang out, remembering the day, the case.

"Yes, angels. That's why I gave one to you."

She rolled her eyes, not catching the fact that he meant it.

They were quiet for a long time, releasing palatable aromas from the easy pealing of skin, taking juicy bites, trying not to admit that _damn, he was right, these are good_, and then she decided it was time.

"Why?"

He didn't have to ask what she was talking about. "One plus One."

She stayed silent.

"You are one, I am one. Together we are one. Apart we are two, and that is wrong."

"This is a Zen thing."

"This is a little bit more than a Zen thing."

And suddenly they were leaning close, they were _too close_, but obviously not close enough because Dani leaned in closer and pressed her lips to his and suddenly it was far too warm. In fact, she was on fire, and as his hands flit down her sides, gaining purchase on her hips, it was so hot she needed to take her clothes off.

So he shut it down.

She was gasping, mouth open in shock. She automatically began cataloging symptoms that aligned with _kissing Charlie Crews_.

They heard the roar of a car — _god, when had it become so quiet? — _and then shouting.

Tidwell.

_Oh, god._

Charlie pulled her to her feet, grabbing her hand and weaving their way back to an open path, shouting commands of _stay where you are, we'll be right there_, until finally he let go of her hand and she stumbled out of the groves.

She was _lightheaded._

Tidwell grabbed her and held her close, but she just managed to be confused about this whole situation. Why were they here, again?

_You don't have to understand here to—oh_ _GOD_.

Tidwell released her. And he was saying things, they were both saying things, sometimes to her, sometimes to each other, but she couldn't answer. And then her head was throbbing and all of a sudden her insides were being pulled out.

Her lover held her hair; her partner rubbed her back. Everything _hurt_.

"Reese? You've been repressing this, haven't you?"

She shivered.

He took that as a yes. "Come on, we're going home. Home is good."

"Home is good," she repeated.

"Are you dizzy?" Tidwell asked.

She fell into the car door and yelped in pain as a response. Both rushed to her side, but Charlie managed to get her into the car and lying down, head in his lap. Tidwell didn't like this, but he didn't say anything as he sped down the road.

"Crews?" she rasped, grasping her sides, as if somehow that would relieve the pain.

"It's okay, we're going to the hospital."

"You can't go to the hospital."

"I'm coming with," he assured.

"You can't go, you're in trouble."

"I never said I was in trouble."

"Your face said you were in trouble. Your face speaks to me, Crews. I can see it all on your face."

"You're starting to sound like me," he joked.

She smiled slightly, but then her stomach clenched up, face contorting, and Charlie went dark.

"Crews?"

"What's wrong?"

"You." She squeezed his hand lightly, eyes flitting erratically.

"What's wrong with me?"

"You're an angel, Crews. You were wrong. _You're_ an angel."

"Why does she keep saying that?" Tidwell said, frantic in the front seat.

"Because she believes it. Also because I'm pretty sure she has a concussion."

"Why is she saying you're an angel? Where did that come from?"

"There was a case — an angel fell out of the sky. I told her that maybe she was an angel, but she said no, and threw my angel out the window."

There was a pause. "What the _hell_ are you talking about?"

Charlie ignored him, and refocused his attention back on her. "Why didn't you tell me you were hurt?"

"I really wanted oranges."

He laughed a little, but it was half-hearted.

She gasped, delirious in pain and trauma, as the car bumped along at high-speed. "I needed answers, angel."

--

They both loved the sun.

He was thinking about things they both had in common, and that was one of them. They both loved the bright, warm rays, reaching from the solar system with scalding fingers that fragmented out to a sweet, more benign caress.

Charlie was trying to figure out how this would work. Because she had kissed him and she knew it, no matter how much she might want to repress it when she wakes up.

He had surprised himself – he wanted this. He had been sitting here for days thinking about it.

They had stuck him in jail again – straight to solitary this time – but a day later Tidwell showed up and got him out. Charlie didn't ask why; he didn't ask how. He was just thankful. He thought that maybe Tidwell knew that he needed to be there, for her, for himself. Maybe he understood.

Tidwell didn't talk much these days.

Tidwell loved her too. But wasn't Charlie here first? Didn't that count for anything?

Maybe Reese didn't love Crews. Maybe, most likely, this was some convoluted fairytale he had created to keep his mind busy when he wasn't enforcing and testing the law. Maybe it was some sort of misplaced emotion, let loose for its bindings after she got the hell beat out of her. Maybe it was some sort of heat-of-the-moment reaction, because he was alive and she was alive and that was a surprise to her. Maybe—

He wasn't supposed to look at the past.

She called him angel, her angel. She was wrong, but he'd play the role for her, like he usually did.

This front, this abundant amount of Zen and questions and did-you-knows — they were all for her. It didn't matter if it aggravated her; as long as she wasn't internalizing her anger, then he was doing her a favor. He was healing her. And maybe the front was a little bit for him too, to help heal him — if you wear a façade long enough, comfortably enough, you can adopt it. He wanted to do that for her, to _be_ that for her, to erase some of the darkness he held.

Reese made her first sound in three long days.

--

"Where'd you meet?" He recalled the conversation. He'd had to subscribe in mindless chatter to distract the too-calm façade worn expressly by his panic.

"In the bureau. We were partners."

Charlie's face changed without his permission, and he realized why.

He was imagining what it would be like to marry his partner.

_Reese._

He kind of liked that.

He knew she wouldn't.

It was funny how these things progressed; Charlie didn't know much about 'these things,' but spending time in solitary prison for twelve years made him ask himself some questions. His theories were diverse, but always calculated.

He liked to imagine himself in love.

He had been in love, once. It was fast and sweet and normal, but he just didn't fit that anymore. He was still fast, true, but sweet was over-rated now and normal was first, out of the question and second, not enough anymore.

He knew what Dani Reese was: she also moved fast, but she's never been sweet and she hates that fact. She's always done it quick for convenience, never in a _relationship_, never anything _real_.

And that was all the more reason for him to try.

--

He had once told her that it was the guy that made her lose her faith, not the drugs, and she had replied that it had been so long she didn't know where she had lost it or if it had even existed in the first place. But now, she had faith in _something._ She had faith in him, in his ability. In his sacrifice.

The first thing she saw was her partner's face, first sound was his name, and because of that Tidwell walked out without a word. A surrender.

He would be okay.

But that wasn't Dani's concern right now.

Crews had been hiding from her for a long time, hadn't he? But he was free now, because she could see him all the more clearly. Because this was all over.

And so she smiled, smiled, smiled.

--

She was wrong. This wasn't the end of the story; this was the beginning of a new chapter.


End file.
